I got your specs today from God.
I read them fast but with attention.
Toward niceties I do not nod.
Deficiencies I do not mention.
You are the Deity’s invention.
I cede that point, sir, right up front.
You must fulfill some high intention.
You are not just a fat-assed runt,
the sort of loser bullies hunt,
the sort of clown who merits sneers
instead of laughter. I’ll be blunt,
however: in my hostile ears,
your silver voice can cast no spell.
I’m sure I’ll hear it rise from Hell.